Who Is My Father?
by GeminiBradshaw
Summary: My Father is James Potter, Yes He is my biological Father, the man I grew up with. Vernon Durslery cannot be called a father for the things he did to me. Snape and Arthur Weasley are the only men who habe shown any type of compassion towards me.
1. Prolog

**Who is my Father?**

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Family/Hurt

**Disclaimer**

I do not own anything that reminds you the reader of the Harry Potter World. That amazing world all belongs to J.K. Rowling. However the characters and events that you do not recognize, belong to me.

**Forewarning:**

This story will contain physical, verbal and mental abuse, sexual references, and contemplated suicide. SO if this bugs you, don't go on. But keep in mind it will also contain healing, love, funny family situations and good times.

* * *

**Who Is My Father?**

**Prologue**

'Will this ever end? What did I do this time? Ouch that stung!' thought Harry.

Harry James Potter, or Harold James Potter, as his birth certificate reads, lives with, not by choice, his only living relatives: the Durslery.

His aunt, Petunia Durslery, is his mother's sister, and she is, well, what is there to say about a woman who marries an abusive cow of a man and allows her fourteen year old nephew to be constantly beaten for no reason? She herself treats her kin with cruelty, much like an unwanted servant.

Dudley Durslery, the over-indulged, over-fed, and under-disciplined only child of the Durslery's, is Harry's cousin, older by a few weeks. Dudley never gets beaten like Harry, or told he is a freak and isn't worth feeding. Dudley gets everything he wants, when he wants it, and he is a bully. Guess who his favorite target is? Harry. He called it 'Harry Hunting' during primary school and Dudley and his friends loved to play that game.

Lastly was his uncle, Vernon Durslery, the manager of a big firm, a large man with an explosive temper. The abusive cow who beats the poor, thin fourteen-year-old boy who is just doing his best to stay out of trouble but trouble just seems to follow him.

'Finally. That wasn't as bad as last time, I guess,' thought Harry as he limped up the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom, where all the broken remains of his spoiled cousin's toys came to die.

Harry climbed into the small bed, and set the alarm clock for 4:30 A.M., enough time to get in a shower before getting breakfast started for his so-called family.

"Some life I live. If Snape or Malfoy could see The-Boy-Who-Lived now, what would they say?" he wondered aloud before drifting into apainful sleep.


	2. Chapter 1: Four Thirty AM

Who is my Father? A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Family/Hurt

Disclaimer

I do not own anything that reminds you the reader of the Harry Potter World. That amazing world all belongs to J.K. Rowling. However the characters and events that you do not recognize belong to me.

Forewarning:

This story will contain physical, verbal and mental abuse, sexual references, and contemplated suicide. SO if this bugs you, don't go on. But keep in mind it will also contain healing, love, funny family situations and good times.

**Chapter One: Four Thirty AM**

The alarm went off like clock work, at four thirty in the morning, and there was no use ignoring it, because if he didn't get up there would be more bruises and marks then there already were. Dragging himself out of the small single bed, he grabbed his broken glasses and the clean grossly oversized hand-me-downs and made his way to the bathroom before anyone else was up.

Carefully down the hall went the small fourteen-year-old that looked more like he was ten or eleven. He watched each step to make sure he didn't step on the spots the creaked or cracked, making it past the sleeping baby whale and the lion's den to the loo. He looked at the small clock on the wall and noticed he had made a record: four and a half minutes. He got into the shower and washed as fast as his sore body would allow him to move. Ten and a half minutes later he dried off and put his dirty clothing in the laundry bin and made his way to the kitchen to start making breakfast.

Watching his steps once again, and making no sound, he made his way down the narrow staircase and past the cupboard. Under the stairs had been his home for so long. He shuddered, moved into the spotless, shining kitchen, and opened the refrigerator, taking out three pounds of bacon, two dozen eggs, thirty-five sausages and a whole loaf of white bread. Out of all this food, he might see a slice of bacon and an egg. Thinking ahead he made a little more so he could eat before his so-called family woke up that day. It was now quarter to five and he had an hour and fifteen minutes to make and eat breakfast before his Uncle, Aunt and cousin woke up and came down for breakfast.

The minutes ticked on by as he cooked and prepared breakfast. The first few pieces of bacon, four of them the most, he managed to get down, and two sausages, two eggs and one piece of toast, the most food he would get all day. After Harry had eaten he quickly finished up the breakfast and put the food in warming dish, covering them and putting them in the oven to stay warm before getting to the table. He had ten minutes to spare. Turning to the kitchen sink he started in on the dishes, washing and drying the pans used to cook the eggs, sausage and bacon. Putting them away he moved to the stove top.

His Aunt was a neat freak for lack of a better term. Harry made sure to wipe down, wash, and disinfect the stove top. It was now three minutes until his family normally started to wake up and move around. He turned to notice he had missed setting the table and whipped around painfully, tearing around the kitchen setting three places at the table. Large dinning plates, small side plates, a breakfast bowl, two forks, a butter knife and a spoon. Each place got a smaller glass cup for fruit juice and for Dudley a larger glass cup for milk, his Aunt a pink flowery tea cup, and his Uncle a large coffee mug in a dark color. White cloth napkins in light blue napkin rings were on top of each place setting.

He could head his Aunt's feet padding across her bedroom as she quickly closed the cupboard doors. He waited until he heard the heavy thundering steps of his Uncle and cousin before he took all the food out and placed it on the table, still covered to keep it warm. He turned off the oven and took the milk, cream, apple juice, and orange juice out of the fridge. He turned on the tea kettle to boil and the coffee pot to brew so they would be ready when his family came to eat. Taking out the butter and sugar and setting them on the table, he smiled.

'Perfect, Harry; and here they come,' he thought to himself.

His Aunt was first and he poured her tea as she sat and waited for her wonderful son and husband. Dudley was down next; he turned on the kitchen TV and got himself a glass of orange juice. Harry had his Uncle's coffee poured and set the cream and sugar close as his uncle waddled through the door.

'Get outta my way, boy," Vernon barked and Harry removed the foil cover from the food. Then he went and met the mail man or woman, as the case had been lately. She was an odd lady; her hair was always a different color; this week it had been pink. Uncle Vernon liked to talk about her, saying rude things about her hair and her generally happy attitude.

"Wotcher, Harry," smiled the pink haired mail lady. "There's a letter here, heavy parchment, odd looking, with your name on it. How's about I leave it here in the flower bush for you to read later?"

Thinking for a moment he agreed, thinking this is a good idea taking into account the last letter he got from school.

"Thank you for the mail, Ms…." Harry stuttered.

"Just call me Tonks, lad, just call me Tonks," she caroled happily as she skipped towards number 5 Privet Drive.

He came back inside just in time to hea,r "Where's the mail, boy? Get your ass in here!" from his Uncle.

"The mail is here Uncle Vernon, the mail lady said to say hello." Harry spoke well passing the mail over to his burly uncle.

"That freak with the pink hair still our postal bring?" Vernon barked.

"Yes, Sir."

"Freak. The postal service should have never employed her; she's just so weird," ranted the oversized man.

Not daring to say what he thought, Harry went about collecting the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. He hoped that Hedwig was enjoying herself at Ron's; Harry had sent his beloved pet and broom to Ron's for the summer due to the fact that he did not trust his family not to hurt Hedwig or break his broom. Ron's family could use the owl; Errol was rather old and need to retire. Harry was thinking of buying them a new one for Christmas.

You see, in the wizarding world, Harry had a lot of money; he was a pureblood and when he was seventeen he would come into his full inheritance and leave this place forever.

He saw the list his Aunt left him. The family was going out for the day and they would leave him alone for the better part of the day. After he was sure they were good and gone, he went to the garden and tucked the letter in his pocket. He then weeded and watered the plants and mowed the lawn. By the time he was done with the outside chores, it was lunchtime and he could actually get a meal in. He went and made a tomato, bacon and lettuce sandwich with the twelve-grain bread that his aunt had bought by mistake and said he could eat. Harry didn't care; he actually preferred it to the white bread the others ate. He sat down and had his lunch with a glass of milk and a bit of fruit. He knew he was most likely not going to get dinner so he chanced it and had a second sandwich. Cleaning up the kitchen for the second time he crossed off all the outside chores and started on the indoor ones. His family was not due home till after dinner as they would be eating out and unless he was done before they arrived would not be getting dinner tonight.

He went about the spotless clean house and picked up all the laundry. He learned to do things while the clothing was washing as it took a little while. So while this first load of what looked like five or six was washing, he cleaned his room and then Dudley's. His was simple, he straightened up the bed and moved some toys and dusted the shelves where the remains of his cousin's dead toys lived.

Dudley's was a different story. It was a mess, and Harry was rather good at getting it done. By the time the first load of laundry was finished he had cleaned the pig sty his cousin called a bedroom and went and hung the clothing out on the line. Putting in the second load, he cleaned the bathroom he and his cousin shared and then the one that was off the master bedroom. By this time the second load was finished, and he noticed that there were less loads then he had first assumed. He put the third in leaving only one more to do. After hanging the second load, he decided that since everything on his list was done but the laundry, and he had ample time left, he would sit and read his letter.

"Mr. Potter

It is my pleasure to inform you that your marks from this past school year were wonderful except for potions. But it is my regret to inform you that you will be unable to continue in potions if you do not pull up your grade this summer. I will be contacting your family and sending Professor Snape to meet with you in a week's time to discuss possible options. Please give the second letter to your aunt. I hope you are well.

Yours truly,

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

_Order of Merlin, First Class, and Grand Sorcerer; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_"

"Oh joy," he mused, "extra lessons with Snape is just what I need."

After reading the letter he took the extra copy and placed it at his Aunt's spot on the dining room table. He finished the laundry and hung it all up, which gave him time to have a quick nibble on some left over sausages before taking down and folding all the clothing. It was very late when his family arrived home. He was in his room, working on the summer homework.

"BOY, get down here!" called Vernon.

Harry quickly hid his books and parchment under the floorboard and hurried down the stairs to see what it was his Uncle was yelling about. After all, he had done everything.

"Yes, Sir?" Harry asked.

"What is this?" Vernon asked waving the letter from Dumbledore at him.

"A letter from the Headmaster of my school, saying I need extra lessons in what you would call chemistry."

"Oh, well then who is this Professor Snape character?"

And before Harry had time to answer his aunt answered,

"He is the professor of the subject, and a childhood friend of mine and Lily's, though I have not spoken to him since he and Lily went away to that freak school."

"Well then, let's hope that he will know how to dress when he comes, when is he coming, boy?"

"The only time frame the Headmaster gave was 'within a week's time,' Sir."

"Well just make sure you don't blow up the house or anything funny like that. Oh and there will be no beating tonight as everything was done to my satisfaction."

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said before going back to his room. Now that his family was home, he couldn't finish any more work. He lay in bed, wondering what Snape would be like, knowing full well the man hated him. But finding out his mother had been friends with the greasy dungeon bat was interesting. Setting the alarm clock he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
